


Hurt

by wardaddy



Category: South Park
Genre: F/M, M/M, for riggy, kyle tries to help, stan and wendy break up, there's style but not really style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 04:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14417274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardaddy/pseuds/wardaddy
Summary: Stan and Wendy break up, and Kyle is left to pick up the pieces.





	Hurt

“Okay.”

The word fills the room, sliding over its walls and settling in its corners, high and low. Stan puts down his cell phone, right beside his shining trophy for quarterback of the school. Its proclamation is obnoxious, so he pushes it off the desk, and replaces it with tough elbows. When he puts his face in his hands, black hair falls over his knuckles – a haircut very much overdue. He can feel water in his palms, but he doesn’t remember beginning to cry. Strange, that emotions can just hit like that.

He sits up with a sniffle, looking at the ceiling that had glow-in-the-dark stars and moons pressed all over it. He can distinctly remember pushing them into the paint with Kyle, just kids then. How did it feel like they had grown so old and so apart in a matter of minutes?

Finally, he pushes himself out of his broken computer seat, leaving the comfort behind with it. Stan grips his cell phone in one hand, the other grasping at the fabric of a navy t-shirt. His stomach mirrors his clenching and unclenching fist, the anxiety of breakup words fresh in his mind as he paces the perimeter of his room- well, the clean parts, anyways.

It never got easier, the breakups. It was much harder each time, a reminder of a failure that he had managed to conjure up. This time, it was about midnight, closer to one in the morning, and she had called him, and exhaled in a single breath that she was giving up on him, that she was done. The conversation was terse, was hard and empty, much like any romance they had left felt like. These were the motions Wendy and Stan went through. This time was their record: two years, without a single breakup. Stan thought they made it, that they would be high school sweethearts this time; his head burned at the thought now. 

Resentment was a feeling he was used to, but never on such visceral level. His heart held nothing but white rage, keen to open his mouth and speak for him. His brain reminded him that he could be angry, that he could be hurt: she cheated on him, and he should have broken it off, should have listened to Kyle.

Kyle.

The gleaming, yellow light from across the street, casting a shadow of wildly curly hair and a desk stacked with papers. Kyle, who reminded Stan that he should break it off, that he should move on, that he should ignore the urge to stay with her. Kyle, who was now so angry at Stan, who was so hurt, who was across the street and awake. Stan swallowed his pride and clicked his name on his phone, putting the phone against his ear. Surprisingly, he heard it pick up, and he worked his dry mouth to speak. 

“Hey, dude.”

“What, Stan?”

The terseness of the quip hurt. He felt physically stung, unable to process the anger behind his tone. Kyle had been angry at Stan lots of times; in fact, they’ve gotten into more fist fights than could be counted. They were both stubborn, set in their ways. He can recall a recent fight, exlcept this was less serious, and more understood. Kyle had insinuated that Stan would end up delusional and drunk, sort of like his father, Randy. While it was true that Stan grappled with the insidious creeping of alcoholism, even at sixteen, he still shot back with a ferocity reserved only for himself. Kyle had insisted it was a joke, and called Stan childish, oversensitive, and Stan replied that Kyle was a psychopathic bully. They were silent for three days until Kyle called Stan, sheepish and apologetic.

Not this time. It had been almost two weeks since they last spoke, and Stan didn’t know what he could have possibly done or said.

He realized he hadn’t said anything yet.

“I’m hanging up.”

“No- wait. Sorry. I was just thinking. Um, you want to come over?”

The line was silent for what felt like hours. Stan was pretty sure he hung up.

“Not really. What’s up?”

“Nothing, dude, I just wanted to see you.”

Maybe that was it, the lack of effort pooled into Friday night visits, into stupid choices of movies that he knew Kyle didn’t like. Brushing him off, pleading for his homework, begging for his shoulder to cry on. A lack of effort, fueled by hormones, fueled without thought. Stan realized he may have been neglectful.

“Bullshit, that’s fucking bullshit Stan, and you know it.”

The sharpness pulls him out of his train of thought, and he sighs, exasperated.

“Look, dude, Wendy broke up with me. And you can say I told you so, or whatever the fuck you want to say to me. I just want you to come over.”

Silence again.

“Okay.”

Kyle hung up, and Stan knew he would be minutes. No need to get his backpack, to get overnight clothes. Stan had his toothbrush in a Ziploc, safe from contaminants, and plenty of his clothes in closet for the morning. Figuring he was out of ways to fidget and worry, he settled for sitting on his unmade bed, and chewing on already irritated nail beds. This gave him time to examine his floor, and he noticed with dismay that it was littered with crumpled clothing. His gym bag lay open, his jersey and sports pants strewn out of them. He should have cleaned up before Kyle came over, but he didn’t even have time to finish the thought before Kyle was opening his door and closing it, but remaining close to it. 

Sometimes he really looked feminine; he had girlish angles, with girlish features. Long lashes dusted freckled cheeks, or at least it appeared that way. Red curls were splayed in every direction, and his mouth was in a permanent half-frown. Even now, with his arms crossed, Stan looked at him with fascinated, yet red and irritated eyes.

Stan sniffled again, feeling pathetic. The repetition of this was enough to drive him insane, though he usually relied on Kenny for the feelings of helplessness with romance. Kyle didn’t look at him with the same empathy and understanding, but instead with apathy. “I don’t know what to do, Kyle. I want-“

“Okay, stop,” he said, just as curt on the phone. Somehow it hurt less. “You don’t want her back, dude, and I’m not gonna let you sit here and mope about it all night. What are we doing? You need to be proactive about this.”

Stan shrugged, feeling more pathetic than he did before. Kyle was different, harder than Kenny. Seeing this, Kyle softened visibly and sighed.  
“I’m not good at this shit, Stan. I just need to know what you want me to do to help you.”

Stan smiled sheepishly underneath a waterfall of tears, trying his best to wipe them off with the collar of his shirt. The once-rounded collar was now distended from snot and tears, and he found himself disgusted. Pathetic.

“I guess I just wanted you to sleep over, so I don’t have to be alone. Is that okay?”

Kyle seemed to consider this for a moment, and nodded, finally kicking his shoes off by the door in a neat pile, next to Stan’s single Converse. Stan laughed at that, their differences. He loved it, loved Kyle, loved that he was staying.

Stan shifted to his position in his bed, their position: he laid on his back, close to his window, and waited patiently for Kyle to follow suit. He did, laying beside him, but on his side. Kyle’s green eyes looked at Stan’s wet face, and he smiled himself, comforted by the smell of him, and even by the sound of the sniffles.

“Thanks for coming over,” Stan said, wiping his nose on his wrist. Kyle made a face and nodded. “Yeah, dude. I guess I could tell you needed it.”

They didn’t have to say anything else. Even if they did, it would be too hard, too convoluted in that moment. They were silent, but comfortably silent, looking at each other with a sort of admiration that could only be described as love. These feelings, ever so apparent, but ever so hidden, reared their heads into almost everything they did, and Stan found himself lulled to sleep by the thought of a forever him and Kyle.


End file.
